


Rudeness Does Pay

by tops



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: FWP, First Date, First Dates, First Impressions, Fluff, M/M, Not really a plot here, Posh git Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:36:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3156035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tops/pseuds/tops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg just can’t hack rude people, he can't stand them. He lives in Britain, where manners were invented. He just cannot stand rude people. Unless they happen to be totally gorgeous and offering to pay for dinner, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rudeness Does Pay

“Great. Fantastic! Thank you so much. I can’t wait. Yes. Yes. I’ll see you Monday then. 9am? Great.”

As Greg clicked the phone down, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. And also couldn’t believe his luck. His interview had gone so well and had only been two hours ago. And now he’d been offered a job. A promotion. He was now officially a Detective Inspector.

 Better pay, worse hours, more interesting work.

Greg glanced round his flat in central London. Messy, small, oddly decorated. The best he could afford with his salary. Greg liked to call it his ‘broken-down-bachelor pad’. He favoured the way you had to kick the door for it to open properly, the way the third drawer down never quite closed and the way that sunlight hit his face every morning despite buying black out curtains at the top price because the woman who sold them had a nice smile. Greg started to tidy round his flat when the phone rang again. He looked at the screen.

 _Shit_. Greg had forgotten to ring her back after their last date, two weeks ago. He took a breath and answered, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Hey, Kim!”  
“It’s Kimberley and hi Greg.”  
Greg rubbed his eyes. “Right, yeah, Kimberley. So uh, how you doing?”  
“Fine.” Kimberley sounded decidedly not fine. “Guess you forgot that we were meant to be going out for dinner last night then?”

Greg looked up and bit his lip _. Shit. Fuck._ He kicked the sofa and cursed the pain in his toe afterwards. Greg had been so busy focusing on his interview that he had totally forgotten the meal. The pre-booked, deposit paid meal. He let out a sigh and nodded even though he couldn’t be seen.

“Yeah.. I’m sorry. I had a big intervi—“  
“It’s fine. I was thinking we could out again tonight anyway.”  
“Oh, right. Yeah. That’d be good. Um, same place?”  
“Yes. 7.30pm. I’ll see you there.”

The phone clicked and Kimberley was gone. Greg shook his head. He was expecting her to tell him not to bother. He was not expecting a second date. But, he wasn’t going to complain. Kimberley was beautiful and made Greg laugh. She was interesting and god, her smile. Greg was very upset when she didn’t kiss him goodnight. Maybe that would all change on date number two.

Greg finished tidying his flat within a few minutes and took a quick shower ready to pull on his best suit for the date. There was only one problem. As Greg pulled open the wardrobe door and grabbed his best suit from its space between the winter coat and Christmas jumper, he realised that maybe he’d over indulged just a little since he’d last worn the suit.

He attempted to pull on the jacket and ripped the seam down the back as with a long exclamation of “Fuuuuuck!”

There was no way he could turn up to see Kimberley in a ripped suit. He’d already forgotten to ring her once and then meet her last night. Greg moved into his living room and opened up Google on his 10 year old computer. He refused to replace it with a newer version because ‘it’s never broke before! Sure it may be slow, but so am I!’. Greg was probably the most stubborn person he could think of. The amount of things that were broken in his flat that he had attempted to fix with some sticky tape or just restarting the damn thing was evidence to that.  But one thing he couldn’t fix with some tape was his suit.

He started to type into the search bar; cheap tailors central London.

He then erased the whole thing and restarted; quality tailors central London.

Well, he was starting a new job soon anyway, a new decent suit would probably come in handy.

He grabbed the first address that popped up and within twenty minutes he was ringing the small silver bell on the counter at ‘Timpson and CO Suits Ltd’.

A suited man with slick blonde hair appeared with a bright white smile and a watch that probably cost more than Greg earned in a year. He offered out his hand to Greg and began to speak softly.

“Hello, good afternoon. Welcome to Timpson. How may we assist you today, Sir?”

Greg shook the hand and looked round the shop. “Well, I was hoping for a new suit. Need it today if that’s possible.”  
“Of course.” The young man smiled and started to lead Greg through the store towards a semi-circle of mirrors. He explained to Greg that he’d need to be measured accurately first and then Greg was assured that he’d be walking out the shop with ‘the finest suit central London has to offer a man such as yourself!’. 

Greg had to admit that he hated this. Hated the awkward intimacy between them both. Hated the fact that only ten minutes into the measuring he was asked to sit in the waiting area.

“But you’ve only measured one arm?” Greg protested as he was ushered away.  
“I’m sorry, Sir, but there is a client who we need to see too.”

Greg was British. Born and bred here in the United Kingdom, the greatest country on Earth in his opinion and one place where everyone, no matter who you were, everyone knew how to queue. So Greg couldn’t quite understand who this person was pushing in front of him in the need of a suit. Unless is was Prince Harry himself, Greg marched back towards the mirrors ready to kick the man out.

“Excuse me.” He began, his voice a strong, dominating tone. “I hate to intrude, well that’s a lie but anyway. I was here before yourself and I would really like to finish, thank you!”

Greg said all of this in a rush, a small anger coiled in his stomach. He finished his sentence before looking up and observing the man who had over taken him. A tall, auburn haired man with a stern face looked back at him and chuckled.

“Well, you will just have to wait.”

Greg didn’t like that answer one bit. The man’s accent gave away that he was privately educated or as Greg liked to say; a posh git. There’s was no way he couldn’t have been taught manners.

“Do you know what a queue is?” He asked, impatiently.  
The auburn haired man rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yes. Of course. What does that have to do with suits?”  
“I was here first!” Greg exclaimed. “You get in the queue behind me!”  
As Greg started to raise his voice a couple of employees rushed to beside the two men.

“Excuse me Mr Holmes.” One said. “We do apologise for this inconvenience.”  
The other employee turned to Greg. “If you would follow me, Mr..”  
“Lestrade.” Greg provided, shooting daggers at Mr Fancy-Pants-Pushing-In-Queues-Holmes.  
“Mr Lestrade. Please follow me and we shall continue your measurement elsewhere.”

Greg sighed but followed anyway, glad to be away from such rude people. He glanced back to where Mr Holmes was stood and discovered he was being watch. Didn’t that guy know it was rude to stare as well? Fucking hell.

After about twenty more minutes, when the store attendant had just started measuring Greg’s inside leg, Greg heard the cash register being prodded at and then “Thank you, Mr Holmes. Please, enjoy your day.”  

Greg turned to see Mr Posh-Rude-Git walking out the store already with three suits in his hands. Greg had to restrain himself from demanding to know how this ginger arse could push in the queue and be served quicker than he had been. He took a deep breath and bit his lip to stop himself swearing. Again. He tried to remind himself that whilst other people could be rude to their hearts content, he didn’t have to be too. He could just let it slide, leave it be and move on. Focus on the better parts of the day like his promotion and his date with Kimberley.

It had been two hours before Greg was _finally_ walking out of Timpsons, one suit better off and £100 lighter. It was expensive, but worth it. Greg had to admit that the new suit helped disguise his bulky frame. It shaped his chest and made his legs appear slimmer. All in all, a smart purchase in Greg’s mind.

7.30pm was quickly approaching and Greg’s nerves were through the roof. He was stood inside one of the flashiest restaurants in London in a queue of about 4 people. _At least these people know how to queue_ , Greg thought. He kept looking through the glass doors for Kimberley. Every woman he spotted with curly hair made him light up slightly until he realised it wasn’t her. He glanced at his watch, then his phone, then back at his watch. It didn’t make him feel any better. He looked back up and noticed someone being seated but the queue wasn’t moving. Greg peered round the people in front and noticed _him._ That awful bloody ginger-posh-would know what a queue was if it hit him in the face-git. Greg couldn’t believe it. Once he could believe, but twice in one day? And the same bloke?

It irritated Greg. Irritated him so much so that he wanted to march right up to that table and make his opinion known. Greg quickly dialled Kimberley to check where she was. The phone rang four times before Greg heard a woman sigh.

“Kimberley? Hey, it’s Greg. I’m waiting for you in the restaurant. Are you nearly here?”    
“No Greg, and I’m not coming. Now _you_ know how it feels to be stood up at a busy restaurant and look like an idiot.”

And with that, the phone went back to silent.

Greg stared at the phone for a moment, baffled by what he’d just heard. This must’ve been Kimberley’s plan all along and Greg realised that he probably deserved it. After acknowledging the fact that he no longer needed to be waiting in the queue, Greg stepped out of the line and marched towards the front. He got the attention of a waiter and asked quietly to be taken to Mr Holmes’ table.

The waiter looked confused at first but eventually nodded and led Greg through the tables. As they approached the table, Greg could see the look on the man’s face; a look of bewilderment then recognition and eventually a neutral stare. The waited smiled at both men before disappearing.

“Hello. And to what do I owe this pleasure?” Mr Holmes asked calmly.  
“Pleasure? It won’t be a bloody pleasure mate. Do you see that there?” Greg asked and pointed towards the front of the restaurant.  
“The doors?”  
“No! The bloody queue! This is the second time today you’ve walked in front of me. And it’s just plain rude, you arse.”  
The auburn haired man laughed and then attempted to look sincere. “I do apologise if I have offended you. However, you have now left the queue and won’t get a table now for at least another hour.”  
Greg rolled his eyes dramatically. “Yeah well, I’ve been stood up.” He shook his head and turned to leave before stopping in his tracks and turning back. “You know what, you need to learn some manners. “

Greg stared at the man for a moment or two. His face was angled but his features were soft and his hair neatly styled. He wore a three piece suit and seemed to look as content as he could be, like there were no problems in the world.

“What?” Greg demanded. “What are you smiling about?”  
“I have manners Mr Lestrade. I did not push in the queue.”

Greg scoffed and almost laughed. “You are kidding right?” Mr Holmes was still smiling and God, that smile was infectious. Greg liked it. Almost a bit too much for his own good.

“Mr Lestrade, do take a seat.” He gestured across the table and before even thinking, Greg was sitting down opposite the man he wanted to punch in the face.

“Mr Lestrade, I wish—“  
“Greg.” Greg interjected, hating to be called by his surname.  
“Short for Gregory I assume?” Mr Holmes asked, Greg nodded. “Okay, Gregory. I am sorry if me being served before yourself upset you but you see, well..”  
“No. No excuses. It’s simple manners. I don’t care if you’re the most important man in England who works for the Queen or the government or whatever!”

Mr Holmes stayed silent at Greg’s remark and raised an eyebrow.

“Wait...” Greg said. “You.. You do, don’t you? Shit..” Greg wanted to kick himself in the face. He didn’t want to say he was particularly excited by politics but he did like the government. They did a lot for the country and in a way, helped the Police service so in turn, helped Greg in his job.  
“Don’t worry Gregory. It’s not treason to be angry at a government employee.”  
“I just assumed you were some rich, posh and rude arse. Which, you kinda are a bit.” Greg looked down realising he was digging a very large hole. “Sorry, Mr Holmes. Sorry. I like the government, really I do. I should go.”

As Greg began to stand, Mr Holmes shook his head. “Please, stay. Have dinner with me.”  
“Uh, why? Aren’t you waiting for someone?”  
“No. Dinner for one. And you have been stood up. I need to apologise. So surely, me buying you dinner makes sense.”

And there was that smile again. The smile that Greg was warming to. It lifted his face and Greg nodded slowly. After all, he had been stood up, what else was he going to do tonight apart from order a takeaway and sit on the sofa feeling sorry for himself. A free dinner at this fancy restaurant definitely sounded better than a kebab that probably didn’t contain as much meat as it should.  

“And please, call me Mycroft.” Mr Holmes insisted.  
Greg tried hard to stifle a small laugh. “Mycroft? Is that a real name?”  
Mycroft nodded and furrowed his eyebrows. “Uh, yes. That is my name. Mycroft Holmes.”  
“Right. Sorry, I just.. never heard of that name before. Ever.” Greg grinned.

Mycroft smiled back and began to explain how he had been named. How his father, grandfather, brother and majority of males in his family had uncommon names. Greg giggled at a few of them, especially Sherlock. What parents named their children Sherlock and Mycroft?

“Sherlock is not even his name.” Mycroft explained.  
“What?” Greg asked, sipping at the costly wine that Mycroft had just ordered.  
“Sherlock. It’s my brothers middle name. His full name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Why on earth he ever chose to be called Sherlock is beyond me.”

As they continued to talk, Greg became more comfortable. He pulled off his new jacket and rested it on the back of his chair, leaning into the table to listen more intently to Mycroft’s stories. He liked the way Mycroft spoke. The way he pronounced words and the different words he used. Greg liked the charming jokes and the captivating conversation topics. And hell, he liked that smile. Greg kept noticing that his eyes were constantly wandering and landing on Mycroft’s lips, watching the way they moved.

An hour passed and the two men were still getting to know each other over roasted chicken and smoked salmon. Greg had told Mycroft about his new promotion and all his failed dates and Mycroft had revealed the fact that he loved bad music and classical operas. The more they spoke, the more at ease each man felt.  Forgetting all about Mycroft’s bad manners, Greg was starting to like this posh git. Possibly a bit more than he should, but no one needed to know that. Greg wanted to find out everything he could about the other man. Wanted to know what made him laugh, his favourite film, worst fear, what made him tick. Greg wanted to know all he could because after tonight, he was sure they would probably never meet again. He was having a wonderful time and was almost glad that Kimberley had stood him up.

“Mycroft, I can’t believe you actually owned a horse called Tallulah!” Greg sniggered.  
“What is wrong with Tallulah!?” Mycroft challenged.  
“So upper class! Couldn’t just call it, I don’t know, Lucky or something!”

The two men laughed together as they opened their fourth bottle of wine and ordered two deserts. A chocolate fudge cake and a crème brulee. The conversation moved on to how Greg decided to become a Police officer and develop into a Detective Inspector. Greg explained how his fascination came from cheesy cop shows and murder mystery dramas which was something Mycroft had never experience. Greg vowed to one day show Mycroft some of the best dramas around. He frowned moments later at the realisation that this would never happen again. This was a one off occasion. Mycroft had bought dinner as an apology, not because he wanted to. It definitely wasn’t a date and that was something Greg had to keep reminding his hazy brain.

A minute of silence fell before the waiter brought over two exquisite looking deserts. Greg was amazed at the quality and standard of food here but taken aback by the price. He was sure he’d never said the words “Are you sure?” so many times in his life before Mycroft reassured him that yes, he was certainly very okay to pay the bill. The plates were set down and more wine was being poured. Mycroft immediately grabbed a fork and scooped up a chunk of chocolate fudge cake. He brought it to his mouth and left a large smear of fondant on his cheek.

Greg began to giggle and Mycroft looked up, puzzled.  
“Something wrong?” He questioned.  
“You just uh..” Greg continued to laugh softly. “You got a little something.. right.. uh..” Greg attempted to point in the right direction.  
Mycroft grabbed a serviette quickly and dabbed at his cheek completely missing the chocolate.

Greg laughed again and leaned further over the table to point at the man’s face. As he leaned in, Greg noticed the light dusting of freckles on Mycroft’s cheeks and smiled. They perfected the soft lines and creases that lay on Mycroft’s skin already. Mycroft leaned in to meet Greg half way and before a moment’s thought, Greg had used his thumb to wipe away the chocolate smudge. Mycroft’s cheeks seemed to darken in the moment and Greg was sure his face was deep scarlet. He bit his lip as they both sat back in their chairs, silent and staring. Greg licked the chocolate from his thumb and swore he saw Mycroft swallowing hard.

The moment was too intimate, too personal. A few hours ago Greg wanted to punch this face. Now all he wanted to do was stroke it with his thumb again. Hold those cheeks, feel that skin on his lips. Maybe it was the wine talking but Greg definitely wanted to do that again.

“Well..” Mycroft broke the silence, his voice still soft and gentle. “How is the crème brulee?”  
Greg quickly ate a spoonful and nodded in delight. “God.. it’s gorgeous!”  
“Ah good.” Mycroft smiled.

Greg let out a silent sigh of relief. It seemed as though Mycroft was going to let that moment slip.

“You already know how mine tastes.”

Maybe not.

If Greg’s face wasn’t read already, it was now. Mycroft had a smirk on his face as Greg attempted to swallow his food.

“I um.. I.. shit.. Sorry.. I..”  
Mycroft shook his head with a chuckle. “It’s fine. Don’t worry.”

The two ate the rest of their deserts in a comfortable silence, occasionally making eye contact and smiling coyly. The bill was settled, Mycroft paying every last penny and not accepting any money from Greg at all and the two stood up to pull on their jackets.

“Well, thank you for this, Mycroft. It’s been wonderful. I had a great night.” Greg smiled politely.  
“Can I give you a lift home?” Mycroft offered and Greg nodded, glad to be able to save £20 on taxi fares.

The two slightly tipsy men wandered outside and a sleek long black car pulled up. Mycroft jumped in followed by Greg who looked like he’d just seen the most beautiful sight on earth.

“Oh my.. This car. It’s gorgeous. Oh my god.” Greg kept looking round the interior, admiring everything and everyone he saw. Mycroft simply smiled back and Greg gave his address to the driver. Who the hell has their own driver in London, thought Greg but didn’t voice it. They sat in silence once more, knees almost touching, almost catching each other’s eyes but never really managing to hold a gaze. The car pulled up ten minutes later and Greg breathed in.

“Well, this is me. My humble abode.” He chuckled and nodded to Mycroft. “Thanks again for everything. The meal, the lift. It’s been great.” He smiled and quickly exited the car, excited for his bed and the warmth of his flat. As he rounded the car towards the pavement, Greg was surprised to see that Mycroft had also stood outside the vehicle.

“Uh, you okay?” Greg asked, a little confused.  
“Yes.” Mycroft said evenly and softly. He moved closer to Greg and smiled. “There was just two more things I needed to do.”  
“And they are?” Greg asked.

Mycroft didn’t reply. He simply closed the gap between the men and placed a feather light kiss on Greg’s lips. Before Greg could even register it had happened, Mycroft was gone. His lips weren’t there. He’d pulled back with that goddamn smile once more. Mycroft must have worked out that his smile sent Greg slightly mad.

“A-And the other thing?” Greg asked, still trying to process the fact that he’d just been kissed.  
“My number.” Mycroft handed Greg a slip of paper and smiled before getting back into his car.

Greg watched the car turn the corner and go, leaving him standing on the street, bemused and happy, slightly drunk and staring at a strip of paper with a number on that read;

_Call me.  
MH x_

Greg was determined not to forget to call after this date.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I made a tweet about how OTP's should meet and well, my beautiful babe Kimberley persuaded me into writing this. Not that it took much persuading really. I've not posted anything in such a long time and I am sorry for that but I am back now! With quite a few ideas for some stories. Hope you enjoyed this one, please let me know! As always, any feedback is appreciated.


End file.
